Legally In Love
by WingedWolf121
Summary: Wherein Erik is unemployed and quite suddenly finds himself without a visa. Luckily, Raven's brother is an honorable man who, after he promises to do his sister a favor, will marry a complete stranger. Now all they need to do is convince the USCIS that they're happily married and in love. Which they aren't. Mostly. It's hard to tell at times. Charles/Erik, background Raven/Azazel
1. Chapter 1

Title: Legally in Love

Summary: Wherein Erik is unemployed and quite suddenly finds himself without a visa. Luckily, Raven's brother is an honorable man who, when he promises to do his sister a favor, will marry a stranger. Now all they need to do is convince the USCIS that they're happily married and in love. Which they aren't. Mostly. It's hard to tell at times. Charles/Erik, background Raven/Azazel

**A/N: The first bits of this were published on tumblr, mainly as a reaction to my irritation over the fact that my non-citizen best friend won't get much need-based financial aid (because the US government doesn't realize that she's probably best thing to happen to this country since forever the morons).**

**But more recently tonight (well, technically the wee hours of this morning), different friend seemed down, and in a desperate scramble to cheer her up (I suck at words), I decided that the best thing to do was write fanfic. Hope this at least helps a bit.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own X-Men.**

"You have to be shitting me." Erik said.

"I know!" Azazel hurled a handful of popcorn at the television. "That was a foul! Freaking hockey refs…"

"Not _that_." Erik said. The fact that the referee of the hockey game in which Azazel was absorbed was clearly blind and deaf was rendered inconsequential by the piece of paper in his hands. "I'm being deported."

"And I'm the born again Czar of Russia." Azazel said, not taking his eyes off the game.

"Vashe velichestvo." Erik said, tossing Azazel the envelope.

"Shit." Azazel sat up and quickly read through the brief notice. "Shit."

"You're a lawyer." Erik said flatly. "Fix it."

"How the hell are you only getting this now?"

"They must not have gotten the letter about my address change." Which Erik had never actually sent, due to him being in a fit of anger against the US government for letting his foolish eighteen year old self accrue such college debts. "So the landlord of my old apartment just forwarded it and this country's _moronic_ postal service managed to lose it."

"Yeah, but this is dated over three months ago." Azazel said. "You were supposed to have three months to find a job."

"I have been trying to find a job for three months." Erik said darkly. His landlord had done this on purpose, he just knew it. _Just_ because Erik had come in at strange hours of the night during his work study internship. The dick.

"I'm aware, seeing as you've been crashing on my couch the whole time." Azazel reread the notice. "Oh, _man_."

"So?"

"So, this is pretty standard procedure, and unless you can find a job within the next week, you need to start scraping together the money for a plane ticket back to Germany." Azazel said.

"I can't just go back to Germany!"

"Are you really in trouble with the government over there?" Azazel asked with interest.

"No, I was lying to impress a fraternity." Erik said. "I'm not going back to Germany because I'm not about to show up on my Mother's doorstep with over twenty thousand dollars' worth of student loans and no job."

"Maybe you should have gotten a degree in something other than the Fine Arts?" Azazel muttered.

"You and your high paying law firm can bite me." Erik snapped. He might not have had a job, or an apartment, or apparently a nonexpiring visa, but he had _culture._

"Yeah well unless your artsy degree can get you a job in…" Azazel looked at the date again. "Less than a week, you're going to have to have a long and uncomfortable discussion with that Mother."

"Shit." Erik muttered again, wishing that he hadn't pissed off that landlord quite so often. "Can't I make an appeal?"

"I don't know, how reasonable do you think the Board of Immigration is?"

Erik glared at him. "A simple no would have sufficed."

"I'm going to call Janos." Azazel said.

Erik closed his eyes. "You are aware that Janos teaches people to sail for a living."

"And he has no college debts whatsoever."

"That's because he cleaned pools in tight white shorts for two years."

"If my boy's ass can get him out of trouble, it should be able to do the same for you." Azazel said.

"Janos cannot wiggle his butt at the immigration authorities."

"He can try." Azazel dialed. "Hey, light of my life, most marvelous purveyor of wisdom, captain of the ships sailings in the storm of love within my heart…"

Whenever Erik felt foolish over taking two years to realize that Azazel was not in fact dating Janos, he liked to remember conversations like that.

"No, he can't get _married_." Azazel said into the phone. "Dude, Erik is a twenty seven year old with a fuckton of college debt who lives on my couch; of course he doesn't have a boyfriend. No, we can't pay someone to marry him, he's broke and I need to buy an engagement ring. If you tell her I will personally stab your face. Kay, bye. I love you too." Azazel hung up. "Janos's ass did not solve your problem."

"Shocker." Erik deadpanned. "So, you plan on proposing."

"As soon as my Christmas bonus rolls around." Azazel paused. "That's a good idea."

"Proposing?"

"No, calling my girlfriend and asking her to solve your problems." Azazel held up a hand to stem Erik's immediate objection. "First of all, you're about to be deported to Germany, and therefore no longer have any pride. Secondly, Raven has uncanny wiling abilities."

"Fine." Erik muttered. Waiting for Azazel's girlfriend to offer up a solution would give him time to plan the pattern in which he planned to key his landlord's car.

"Hey, Raven." Azazel said into the phone. "So Erik is about to get deported. Yes, Erik the broody intellectual. Anyway, can you fix this? Mmm. Mhmm. No, he can't work as an assistant to your brother; he needs to find work in _his_ field. That'd be Fine Art. I don't know, I think he just stares at paintings or something. Does your family own an art gallery? Dammit. No, he can't get married, he's single and broke. Sure, I can hold." Azazel sat back. "Raven is on it."

"How reassuring." Erik muttered.

"Hey, we're saving your ass here. Show some gratitude." Azazel said.

"Sorry."

"It's fine." Azazel grinned at him. "We accepted your pathological inability to see the positive side of things long ago. Hold on." Azazel picked the phone back up. "Rae? You…seriously? You're _kidding_." Azazel stared at Erik. "You're not kidding. Well, that would work, if we could get it processed in time…you know a guy? Okay then. I'll tell him."

"So?"

"Raven has fixed your problem. Sort of." Azazel paused. "Before I tell you the plan, I want you to remember that if you don't go through with this, you're going to show up in Germany in around a week and have to admit to everyone that you failed drastically in your life plan."

"Azazel, I'm just about desperate now. What was her solution?"

"You get married!" Azazel grinned. "Raven, you see, has a brother. A nice brother. A brother who apparently will automatically agree to grant his sister a really big favor before finding out what the favor is and who has too much honor to break his promise."

"…I'm about to marry your girlfriend's _brother_?"

"Congratulations, he's rich and you get to crash on his couch instead of mine." Azazel returned his attention to the hockey game. Erik wondered where his life had gone wrong.

* * *

Erik regretted this decision already.

He'd gotten bullied into wearing a suit by Azazel and Janos ("you are getting_ married_ today Erik how often does that happen"), bought the cheapest set of rings available from the nearest jewelry store, and gotten driven to a courthouse, outside which he was now pacing while Azazel texted his girlfriend.

"My mother isn't going to be pleased." Erik predicted.

"She'd probably be more pissed with you being deported."

"This is a courthouse marriage. We're being married by a justice of the peace. I haven't fasted. We have no tent or wineglasses. Does her brother even know Hebrew?"

"I dunno." Azazel shrugged.

Erik resisted the urge to throttle him. "You know, best men are supposed to be _helpful_."

"I am being helpful, I'm texting Raven directions." Azazel sighed. "Also, I know this is a radical and totally original and unprecedented idea, but you could-now don't freak out-not actually tell your mother."

Erik glared at him. "She's bound to notice eventually."

"Look, it's not as though this will last." Azazel snapped his fingers. "Sleep on his couch for two months, leech off his legal status until you find a job, get a divorce, and you two can part friends having enjoyed temporary marital bliss."

"You are aware that you're currently propagating a felony, and that a fraudulent marriage could put us in prison."

"See, I am not the one getting married." Azazel grinned. "If this crashes and burns, I plan to watch from the sidelines and deny that it was my idea."

"Trust me, I'll find a way to drag you down with me." Erik said grimly.

"You." Azazel pointed at Erik's chest. "Potential federal offender. Me." He pointed at himself. "Mostly law abiding America citizen and productive member of society."

"You're a _lawyer_."

"And you sleep on couches and do endless crossword puzzles; I think it's clear here who the court system is going to favor." Azazel returned to his phone. "Raven says she and her brother are just around the corner."

"What's her brother like anyway?" Erik demanded.

"I dunno."

"If you say that one more time…"

"Look, Raven is _smoking_, and they share dna, so he's got to be at least decent." Azazel said soothingly. "He's probably a bit dumb if he agreed to marry _you_, but he's got a very well-paying job. Whenever Raven talks about him she usually just says that he's been prying into her life or that he's all wrapped up in some new scientific project. So I'm sure you two will have a perfectly normal marriage."

Erik glared at him in mute fury until Raven arrived, brother in tow.

"Az!" She got out of the car first and waved at him, a cheerful smile in place. Azazel hurried forward to kiss her cheek, looking as vaguely pleased with himself as he always did when around Raven. "You're Erik, right?"

"Yes." Erik said.

"Oh good, you're decent. Charles would you hurry up?! We have to get into international waters by noon!" Raven called. "This is my brother, Charles."

"What do you mean, international waters—" Erik was distracted by the appearance of Raven's brother.

Well damn.

He was…

Well damn.

"Yeah, there's been a change of plan. Charles looked it up, and we don't actually have a marriage license, and we have a _slight_ time crunch going on at present. Atlantic City won't let you waive the waiting fee except in dire circumstances, and we both agreed that that would look very fishy for the Stokes people." Raven shook out her hair slightly. "We figured the best option was to get Janos to do it."

"_Excuse me?_"

"He's a captain!" Raven said. "He can drive us all into international waters, get you two wrapped up, sign some paperwork, which we've got all figured, you just have to sign it, then we're back in the city in time for you to move all of your stuff to Charles's apartment."

Erik turned on Azazel. Azazel coughed awkwardly. "On the plus side, I was right in saying that Janos's backside would solve your problems."

"I'm going to be married by Janos." Erik said. His mother was going to kill him.

"If it makes you feel any better, I didn't picture my afternoon going this way either." Charles said dryly. He eyed Erik with an air of satisfaction. "Though I suppose it could be worse."

"Wait, you're _British._" Erik said.

"Dual citizenship." Charles shrugged.

That was just not fair.

"Erik." Azazel grabbed his arm. "Conference. Now."

"What?!" Erik hissed.

"If you don't consummate this marriage, I'm going to build a time machine, go back to the years we shared together as college roommates, and remove your balls." Azazel said urgently. "You are never going to get an opportunity to bang anyone that far out of your league again, and if you do not take advantage of it, we can't be friends."

"I can't believe this is my life." Erik mumbled.

"Me neither." Azazel shook his head. "Me neither, man."

"Excuse me." Charles interrupted them. "But if Erik and I are in fact getting married today, we ought to be heading toward the docks."

"Great!" Raven stepped into the street, one hand up.

"Be careful." Charles said sharply.

"I'm summoning a taxi." Raven rolled her eyes. "I promise, I will not be run over."

Azazel patted Erik's arm. "You two should take Charles's car. You know, get to know each other."

Two minutes later, Erik found himself awkwardly staring out the passenger window, quietly contemplating the fact that Azazel was probably having sex in the back of a cab at the moment, while he was on the way to have a man he'd seen dance shirtless on a pool table marry him to a complete stranger so as to preserve some sort of legal status.

Erik noted that the trend of his life steadily going more wrong seemed to be gaining strength.

* * *

Erik and Charles were wed just off the coast of New York, with fumes from the polluted waters rising up around them and Erik wondering whether or not the boat would sink before the ceremony was over and spare him this humiliation.

"Dearly beloved." Janos began. "We are gathered here today to join in union Erik Lensherr and Charles Xavier."

Erik personally would not have classified anyone as this boat as dear or beloved.

"We ah…" Janos eyed them both. "Look, I only had about two hours to look up how I'm supposed to do this; can you two put some effort into it and make up your own vows?"

Erik and Charles glanced at each other.

"Well." Charles began. "I ah, vow to not leave dirty socks around, how's that?"

"I vow to not leave pots full of old macaroni in the sink."

"I'll vow to actually clean out the bathtub and not leave it full of dirt."

"I can vow to actually replace the toilet paper rolls when I'm through."

"I'm pretty sure marriage vows aren't supposed to be a listing off of everything you find annoying about your old roommates." Azazel muttered. "Can't you two pull together something about love or devotion or some crap?"

Erik caught Charles's eye. Charles smiled wryly.

"Oh, this is such bull." Janos mumbled. "Look, you two have to do the whole sickness and health thing, I don't know any Hebrew sorry Erik, but I _did_ draw you guys up a marriage contract!" Janos held up a piece of paper obviously ripped from a notebook. "See, I made Charles agree to feed you regularly, and to take you to art museums once a month to stimulate your brain."

"Wait, I'm the _bride?_"

"I knew there was a reason you were my favorite of Janos's friends." Charles mused. He took the pen and signed the bottom of the paper. Erik noted that Charles had a pretentious middle name and loopy handwriting. "Erik?"

"You realize that you aren't authorized to draw up a marriage contract and that I find this insulting on multiple levels."

"Sign anyway, I think the fumes off the bay are making me dizzy." Charles said.

Erik grudgingly scrawled his name in the corner, privately resolving to burn the damn thing as quickly as possible.

"Right." Janos tucked it away in his pocket. "So, here's the part I actually managed to memorize." Janos cleared his throat. "Do you, Charles Xavier, take this man to be wed, in sickness and in health, joy and sorrow, thick and thin, til death do you part?"

"I er, do." Said Charles, who was busy eying Raven and Azazel with some alarm.

"Do you, Erik Lensherr, take this man to be wed, in sickness and in health, joy and sorrow, thick and thin—"

"I do." Erik cut in. He had to admit, the soppy looks Raven and Azazel were exchanging were somewhat disgusting. He also noted that Charles looked ready to fling Azazel off the boat with his bare hands.

"I now pronounce you husband." Janos paused dramatically. "And husband. You may kiss the husband."

"Did you pull that line from a rom-com?"

"Shut up Erik." Janos said. "Now kiss already."

Raven and Azazel nodded emphatically. Erik shifted awkwardly.

"Oh, for god's sakes." Charles said. He stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Erik's neck, pulling him into a kiss.

For one rather alarming instant, the scent of the waters vanished. Charles had gone to the effort of putting on some sort of cologne, or else just naturally reeked of old books. He had the _plushest_ lips Erik had ever encountered, and knew how to use them, catching Erik's bottom lip in his and sucking very slightly. One of his hands secured Erik's head, the other rested firmly on his hip. Erik momentarily forgot how to breathe.

Janos coughed delicately.

Charles broke away, wiping his mouth. "Not bad, hubby."

"Eh?" Erik asked. "Oh. Yes. Not bad."

He had the distinct impression that Raven was laughing at him behind her hand.

"So, that's that done." Janos said. "You two just need to sign a couple documents, and send in Erik's petition, and you should be all set."

Looking back, Erik would laugh at those words.

* * *

"So, welcome to my humble abode." Charles said. "Is that all of your luggage?"

"This is what you call a humble abode?"

"It is my abode. It is reasonably humble." Charles glared at him. "Problem?"

"Oh no, not at all." Erik said.

Having Janos's boat temporarily break down had not improved either of their moods. Nor had late movers. Nor had the fact that Charles owned an apartment with two bedrooms, a deluxe kitchen, and what probably amounted to a small library.

"Good." Charles led him into what was apparently the master bedroom. "The bed should work for both of us, it's big enough, and you can put your clothing in the bottom drawers, they're all empty…"

"What do you mean, the bed should be big enough for both of us?" Erik said.

"Well, you'll be sleeping in it too." Charles said matter of factly.

"I will not!" Erik spluttered. "You've got a nice leather couch."

"We're _supposed_ to be married." Charles said.

"And actually sleeping in the same bed is going to make that more realistic because…"

"Blimey, are you that depressing all the time?" Charles sat down on the bed and began taking off his shoes. "Look, I'm exhausted, so just unpack your things and don't make a bunch of noise when you get into bed."

"I'm not sleeping in your bed." Erik said flatly.

"Fine." Charles shrugged. "It's your legal status, mate."

Erik scowled. Charles kicked his shoes into a corner and left for the bathroom. Erik shuffled into the living room with his meager two suitcases. Erik didn't collect junk, unlike Azazel, who had in his apartment two samurai swords, a Swedish knife collection, and a genuine halbard from the Scottish highlands.

Erik lived in anticipation of the day when some poor sap tried to rob Azazel.

He stacked his books next to the extremely comfortable looking couch, carefully placed his laptop on the coffee table, and managed to shift all of his clothing from his suitcase to Charles's lower drawers in a manner of minutes.

That was good, because a minute later Charles wandered in dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel. Erik beat a hasty retreat and began to alphabetize his books, muttering under his breath about standards of decency.

That took about an hour. Erik had accumulated a number of books in his years in college, and while he was perfectly fine with tossing junk from old relationships, worn clothing, and "sentimental" objects, he was incapable of throwing any of his old books away.

When he was through, he peeked into Charles's room. The man was a ball beneath the covers, only brown hair showing.

It was kind of cute.

But, more importantly, it meant that Erik was free to snoop around the apartment at leisure.

First he went to the kitchen.

How in the world could someone devote an entire cupboard to different brands of tea and not have unspoiled milk? And not just spoiled milk, Erik realized, milk that was three weeks past expiration date.

Other than the unholy milk, which Erik tossed in the garbage, the kitchen had a few leftovers in the fridge, a drawer full of takeout menus, and a large bowl of fruit, which Erik vaguely appreciated. There was also a liquor cabinet of excellent scotch, which he was sure would come in handy, and which, judging by the fact that the primary type of drinking apparatus in the cupboards were shot glasses, had to be frequently replenished.

Charles's dvd collection, while impressive in that it contained both every episode of Doctor Who broadcasted since 1963 and every BBC nature documentary produced since the year 2000, was sadly lacking in Twilight Zone dvds and Star Trek.

Erik stalked through the rest of the living room, alternately impressed by Charles's wide range of books and repulsed by the fact that they were the only objects that seemed to be routinely cleaned.

He quickly found that the reason he hadn't seen much apart from shot glasses in Charles's dish cabinets was because there was a wide variety of mugs scattered over the apartment. Erik found five "World's Best Teacher" mugs, one which said "Keep Calm and Pretend It's On the Lesson Plan" which seemed to have contained whiskey (as did the one which proclaimed "The Dog Ate My Lesson Plan"), an extremely chipped blue mug which read "Big Brother Pride", one with the handle half broken off saying "Sugarlock and Moriartea", which made Erik snort, a "Mr. Tea" mug, and one which gave out logic's definition as "the art of being wrong with confidence."

That was of course, in addition to the mugs which had on them teddy bears, cutesy pine villages, and platitudes in cursive.

Erik decided not to ask, and went prowling into the guest bedroom.

After about a minute, in which Erik noted that there were several hair products, a closet full of dresses, a sword mounted on the wall, and a punching bag strung up from the ceiling, Erik deduced that in reality this was Raven's room, presumably for when she stayed with Charles.

Well, Erik didn't have any particular interest in finding out about Raven.

He went instead for the source of all true secrets; the bathroom.

It was nice, all marble tiles, and had a massive tub that made Erik quietly long to take the sort of drawn out, uninterrupted bubble bath which would have been impossible in Azazel's apartment, and have gotten him mocked anyway.

Erik noticed with incredulity that Charles used an expensive but fairly normal looking shampoo brand. Raven's was there as well.

Erik couldn't believe he'd spent so much time listening to Azazel ramble about Raven that he knew her shampoo brand. Perhaps being married and not in Azazel's apartment was a positive development.

The medicine cabinet was more interesting.

There was cologne, deodorant, toothpaste, and floss, all of which told Erik only that he'd married someone who met the minimum standards of hygiene. There was a very large and half empty bottle of advil. There were tums. There band aids with teddy bears on them. There was hydrogen peroxide and a roll of bandages, to Erik's satisfaction. There was a fancy electronic razor that perhaps explained why Charles looked like he'd never grown facial hair in his life.

It was all disgustingly normal. Erik frankly couldn't believe anyone who owned a mug where the handle was an over-muscled leg kicking a soccer ball could be that normal.

The contents of the cabinets beneath the sink were far more interesting.

There was one corner that contained pads and tampons, which Erik supposed meant that Charles was considerate enough to stock up for whenever his sister came by, and hopefully secure enough in his masculinity to buy them himself.

More interestingly, there was a shelf taken up by several varieties of condoms, including ones with both Obama's and Mitt Romney's face on them.

Erik slowly closed the cabinet and backed away, not sure he wanted to know, but doubly sure that he had no intention of sleeping anywhere near Charles.

_It's your legal status, mate._

Surely the board wouldn't be paranoid enough to check on them the very morning after they were married. They probably wouldn't even have gotten Erik's petition by then.

_It's your legal status, mate._

Erik swore under his breath.

He crawled into the other side of the bed half an hour later.

"Done snooping?"

Erik swore rather loudly. He heard Charles laugh quietly.

"Have you been awake this entire time?"

"Possibly." Charles sounded vastly amused, which Erik supposed was a good thing. "Satisfied that I'm not an axe murderer?"

"Why the hell do you own condoms with Obama's face on them?"

"You went into the bathroom too?" Charles sounded slightly incredulous.

"There was nothing interesting anywhere else."

"Sorry to disappoint." Charles turned over. "It was a bout of drunken post-election exultation."

"Ah." Erik said, feeling as though that hadn't adequately answered his question. "Well. Goodnight."

"Night."

Erik fell asleep before he had figured out whether this bed was actually made of clouds or whether Azazel's couch was just that uncomfortable.

**A/N: It was my original intention to have all of this in one oneshot, but alas, it is around 5:50 am and it is not complete, so stopping seemed a wise idea, since I wanted to post it quickly. Apologies for all spelling/grammar errors; as I said, this was done a bit hastily.**

**Review?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank y'all for the reviews! They were very much appreciated, and definitely both enriched my life and made writing this far easier. Massive thanks also go out to Missy The Least, who corrected my typos and provided lovely encouragement. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own X-Men.**

Erik was enormously confused upon waking up.

For one, there was no irritating friend singing the greatest hits of the Spice Girls at the top of his lungs, as had been Azazel's morning shower routine. (Erik was deeply saddened by the fact that he wouldn't be there to see Raven's face when she realized her boyfriend had this particular habit. Or when she found out about Janos's tendency to join him in the godawful wailing whenever he was also in the apartment.)

He was also sprawled out, and all of his limbs were delightfully warm. His vertebrae weren't in any pain whatsoever. Erik cracked his eyes open.

There was a lot of hair in his face.

That was probably because he had tangled up with Charles at some point in the night. Apparently, his husband was a contact seeker, a fact about which Erik would have liked a bit of warning.

His next realization was that he had a raging hard on, which was not the most unusual morning situation.

It was less usual for him to another man cuddled up to him and encouraging said hard on. Erik carefully got his elbows under himself (taking his arm away from Charles's waist in the process) and attempted to wriggle out from under the comforter.

Charles made a muzzy sound and shifted closer, brushing against Erik.

Erik froze and tried to think about dead puppies.

Charles made a pleased sound and rolled his hips, rubbing closer to Erik. Erik winced as his penis ignored the images of dead puppies in favor of pointing out how lovely it would be to bend Charles over and fuck him under the comforter.

Erik severely reminded his body that not only had he met Charles _yesterday_, the man was asleep and probably dreaming about not-Erik.

Charles promptly ruined that by making another happy noise and outright thrusting against him, and if there hadn't been Charles's boxers and Erik's sweats between them (and the two layers suddenly felt like absolutely _nothing_) the barrier between dry humping and prepping for penetration would have been passed.

Erik thought that Charles probably wouldn't stay asleep for long with a large and rock hard object pressed up against his ass, and so ingloriously flailed his way out of bed. Erik landed on his backside on the (hardwood) floor with an ignominious _thud_.

However, Charles's fluffy comforter and ridiculous mattresses worked in Erik's favor. Charles, rather than waking up and demanding to know why his spouse was sitting on the floor and glaring at the bulge in his sweats, rolled over and wrapped his arms around Erik's pillow.

Erik retreated to the bathroom. Charles had excellent shower pressure, and fifteen minutes under the icy jets did him a world of good. Erik left the shower wrapped in one of Charles's massive towels (was _everything_ the man owned inordinately comfortable?) and picked out jeans and a clean shirt from his drawers.

Charles was still asleep. Erik glanced at the time and wondered if Charles even had a job. There didn't seem to be an alarm clock around anywhere.

Erik mentally shrugged and left for the kitchen. It was time to scrounge up breakfast from the meager contents of Charles's fridge.

There were no eggs for omelets.

There were no bagels, which was fine because there was also no cream cheese.

There wasn't even _bread_, despite the toaster oven.

At least there was a gourmet coffee machine, and several pounds of Columbian brew.

Erik ended up having an apple. Charles did get several papers, both from America and England, so he spread one out on the spacious counter and began to read. It was a surprisingly peaceful feeling, leaning against the counters with his apple and steaming cup of coffee (in a mug that had initially featured Henry VIII and all six wives. Now all but Catherine Parr had faded, to Erik's amusement).

The peace was ruined at around 8:15, when Beethoven's Fifth suddenly began blasting from what sounded like every speaker in the apartment. Erik knocked his coffee all over an article criticizing the latest lack of Environmental legislature and almost choked to death on a chunk of apple.

Eyes watering, Erik staggered into the living room to try to find a way to turn the music off.

"Morning!" Charles said cheerfully. He hadn't gotten dressed yet. He flicked a switch on the wall, and the surround sound stopped making the walls vibrate. "Sorry, should have warned you about that."

"Don't you get noise complaints?"

"Oh no, the walls here are all quite soundproof." Charles said airily. "I've got to shower and get to class by nine, I'm afraid. So, if you need a ride anywhere, now would be the time to speak up, because I'm driving."

"This is what you call a honeymoon?"

Charles laughed. "We can do Maui when we renew the vows."

Erik snorted. Charles put on a pot of tea, instructed Erik to put in five of the Earl Greys if it boiled over before Charles was out of the shower, and left. Erik switched newspapers and tried not to think about how Charles's shower was probably lovely and steamy.

"See you tonight!" Charles called, slinging a bag that was half his size over his shoulder and pouring the entire pot of tea into an enormous traveling mug.

"Have a nice day." Erik responded automatically.

"Spare key is jammed into the doorframe on the lower lefthand side if you feel like going out, but I'll get your own copied for you during lunch hour, there's cable, and I can email you a guide for how to work the remotes, the thermostats just outside the bedroom if you need to adjust it." Charles added, poking his head back into the kitchen. "There's also—"

"I'm sure I can manage myself for one day." Erik said, amused despite himself. "You're going to be late for work."

"Right. Well, if you need anything, my number's by the phone." Charles finally left.

Erik finished the paper cover to cover, then wandered into Charles's living room.

Aside from his legal situation, Erik despised unemployment for the sheer boredom of it. There had to be something around here to do…

* * *

"Bloody hell." Charles said, upon coming home.

"I was bored." Erik said, not looking up from his book.

"I haven't seen my apartment this clean since the first week I moved in." Charles looked in slight awe at the couch. Erik had spent the better part of two hours beating out the dust and scrubbing the stains out of the upholstery. He had resisted temptation to go over it with a blacklight, reasoning that he really didn't want to know. "I didn't even know that I owned cleaning products."

"They were under the sink." Erik said, still immersed in the book.

"Huh. I wonder how that happened." Charles perched on the arm of the sofa. "So, did you spend your entire day cleaning this place up?"

"Cleaning this up would take more than a day." Erik said flatly. "Just cleaning up the living room used up all the solvents."

"Huh." Charles still looked impressed. "Well, if you want to buy more, here." Charles pulled out a bunch of paperwork. "Sign these, it'll join our bank accounts, and you'll be able to use my credit card."

Erik eyed the papers suspiciously, but after a brief look over, signed them. "Do they check that sort of thing?"

"I've no idea, but I thought it was better to be thorough." Charles said. "Besides, I didn't know what your financial situation was, and it'd look a bit ridiculous if you were going around with only a few bucks in the bank while I make six figures teaching."

"I thought all teachers were underpaid." Erik said.

"Not when you teach a thousand students at a high profile university." Charles said cheerfully. "Besides, I have a trust fund. Whatever you need, you ought to be able to get it."

"Huh." Erik said. "I need groceries."

"Eh?"

"Have you seen your fridge?" Erik demanded.

Charles had to stop and think. "Er, I know I've got icecream in the freezer for Raven."

"What do you _eat_?"

"Take out." Charles looked sheepish. "Salad from the university cafeteria. A lot of tea."

"You're going to develop auto-immune deficiency." Erik muttered. "Can't you cook?"

"No." Charles said.

Erik stared at him. "Fine. Give me the credit card and your car keys, I'll get us food."

"No, I'm coming." Charles protested.

And thus did Erik Lensherr find himself, on an ordinary Tuesday night, in the halls of a supermarket, engaged in the sordidly domestic activity of planning out his meals for a week with his husband.

Not that Charles was much help.

"You can't just toss food in the basket!" Erik said exasperatedly.

"Erik, it's a pack of bananas, I'll eat them at breakfast."

"No, you won't, and they'll rot there, and it's going to be a waste of food and money." Erik said, scowling at the cart. They already had a couple of strange exotic condiments and a jar of nutella which Charles had tossed in there because apparently, his students were obsessed with the stuff and he was curious. "We need practical things, like eggs."

"There are eggs; I put them in when we first got in. And they're organic, free range." Charles said. "And I've got milk, and bread, and cheese. Honestly, that's enough for a week's worth of meals."

"I am not spending my life with you eating omelets and toast for every meal." Erik said flatly. "Now go get some tomatoes and parsnips. And spaghetti."

"Erik, there are at least five different types of spaghetti in that aisle."

"Get the cheapest then."

"I thought you wanted us to eat high quality food?"

"No, what I want is to be able to make spaghetti, just get whatever type you want!"

"I don't care what type we get, whichever you want."

"I don't care either."

They stared mutinously at each other for a moment, before being interrupted by a slight cough. A redheaded stockboy was standing there, holding up a can.

"Hey Charles." He said. He had, Erik noticed, an Irish accent. "Sorry to bother you, but we're doing a charity drive, and every time you buy one can of base, you give a cap of soup to a homeless shelter."

"Erik, what sorts of foods can you make with stock?"

"Soups, risotto, sauces…" Erik said, momentarily thrown by the appearance of the ginger. He watched in mute amazement as Charles proceeded to load up their cart with at least fifteen cans of chicken and beef stock. "You can't be serious."

Sean shot him a look of interest. Charles hastily said "This is my husband, Erik. He's ah, been away, travelling."

"I'm Sean." The stockboy said, holding out a hand.

"From Ireland?" Erik asked. They shook hands.

"Yeah, I'm here as a student." Sean said casually. "The shop appreciates your efforts to end homelessness in New York, Charles."

"Whatever I can do." He glanced at Erik. "You alright?"

"Was I asleep the day they handed out visas?" Erik demanded. Sean took a few prudent steps back.

"I'm just going to…count up these prices and turn fruits around." Sean said hastily. "Um, enjoy your domestic."

"Oh, calm down." Charles grabbed him and pulled him towards the cereal aisle. "What do you put in stock?"

* * *

"_I beg your pardon?"_ Erik's mother had the honor of being the first in the family to know. He trusted that she would spread it amongst his various acquaintances in Germany, in case the cdsc people were able to do intercontinental inquiries.

Perhaps he should have chosen a better time than while taking an undercover trip to the supermarket to buy the sort of _actual food_ his idiotic husband didn't eat.

"Erik has a sugar daddy." Azazel leaned over Erik's shoulder to wave.

"…_excuse me?" _His mother was giving him a look similar to the one she'd given him when he'd accidentally skyped her wearing only a feather boa. Thankfully, as he was skyping through Azazel's Iphone in a Stop-N-Shop which offered free wifi, she was unable to judge the fact that his t-shirt had coffee stains and wrinkles. (He'd gotten lost in Charles's apartment building that morning and hadn't been able to find the laundry room.)

"Ignore him, Mama." Erik glared at Azazel.

"He does. I am putting the lawyerly seal of approval on it." Azazel grabbed a random article of food from Erik's cart. "Look at this? _Brand name peanut butter_. He's clearly capitalizing on the six figures his husband makes teaching and the fact that they merged their bank accounts this morning."

"You realize that your hopefully-future-wife also has a trust fund?"

"I know." Azazel sighed contentedly. "We're going to buy the most bourgeois suburban house I can find and raise bratty children who get into Harvard because their uncle is a legacy."

Erik quietly wondered where all of Azazel's freshmen activist crusades had gone. "Anyways, mother. I am married."

"I got to perform the ceremony." Janos chimed in. Erik wondered if it might have been better to just use his crappy flip-phone to make this call, and just take the risk that the government was tapping his line. "We did it at sea, it was very beautiful."

Erik's mother was staring at him and clearly regretting his life choices. _"Does this happen to everyone with gay sons?"_

"Just the unemployed ones." Erik said. Well, at least if his mother was making jokes, she wasn't going to disown him for not getting an invitation to the wedding.

"No, no." Janos objected. "Just the vaguely aggressive deeply in debt type who wear too many turtlenecks and is about to go shopping with me for some new clothes—"

"Isn't your lunch break over yet?" Erik snapped. "And I am not using Charles's money to buy a new wardrobe!"

"I don't think he understands the point of being a golddigger." Azazel said to Erik's mother, looking sad.

"Yeah, I've bought like two different slip-n-slides with Azazel's credit card, it's really the best." Janos added.

"When did you get my credit card?" Azazel looked mildly curious.

"Freshmen year when you told me you'd sell me your soul if I got you enough coffee to get you through your ridiculous morning classes."

"Huh." Azazel said. "Do you still have the slip-n-slides?"

"_Mmmhmm."_ Erik's mother had grown accustomed to Azazel and Janos long ago. _"So, Erik. How did you meet him?"_

"Azazel's dating his sister." Erik frowned at the shelf. "When you make karnatzel, how much paprika do you use?"

"_Start with an eighth of a teaspoon and work your way up."_

"You'll buy paprika but you won't go out with me and buy new clothes."

"I don't _need_ new clothes." Erik glared at him. "You haven't seen Charles's apartment, the whole kitchen is take-out menus and liquor."

"_Good for you, Erik_." His mother said approvingly. _"Force the husband to eat some real food. Very domestic."_

Erik gazed at her in vague horror. "It's not funny. You might be asked to testify in a federal court that you know I'm actually married."

"_Yes, I'm sure that the US government will find a way to summon me from Germany_." She looked mildly amused. _"All of your skills at deception were inherited from me, Erik. I think I can outsmart the American legal system."_

In fairness, Erik's mother was certainly smarter than the entire Supreme Court put together, but there was a very extremely hefty fine involved in marriage fraud. "Mama…"

"_I know."_ She said soothingly. _"Don't worry dear, I'm sure this will work out. However, I insist on pictures of Charles. I don't care if you text or email, I demand to see my son-in-law. And ah, Erik? Feeding your husband pudding cups doesn't really fall under excellent husbandly duties."_

"What…" Erik stared down at his cart. At some point, several items that were _not_ on his shopping list had wandered in, and the pudding cups were on the quality end of the spectrum.

"You were absorbing in mother-son bonding activities." Janos shrugged.

"If you wanted food, you could have gotten a separate cart."

"Erik, _we_ don't have sugar daddies, and frankly, seeing as we were the ones who pimped you out to Charles in the first place…" Janos tossed a jar of nutella into the cart. "I would call this our cut."

"_It certainly looks like the cart of a newlywed."_ Erik's mother observed.

"Mama…" Erik cursed skype and all skype-related products. "Both of you, put all of this back. _Now._"

"I hope you know that your future children are going to need therapy if you stifle their creativity this way."

"I am not having children with Charles!"

"Adopted, sheesh."

"_I would like grandchildren."_ Erik's mother noted. Erik wondered when the world had turned against him. He also wondered when his life had turned into an endless train of wonderings.

"I have to actually get home at some point, and clean the apartment, so if you all wouldn't mind being constructive for once and helping me find the black pepper…"

"On it." Janos saluted him and wandered off down the aisle. Azazel followed, drawn by what Erik had concluded was a metal plate in both of their hips.

"_Now, Erik."_ His mother's tone shifted to startlingly businesslike. _"What are the basic facts I need to know about this man?"_

"He's 5'7, um, teaches at Cornell…"

"_No, I mean what you need to know so you won't be deported."_ She said. She smiled fondly at Erik. _"No one who has ever met you would believe that you didn't tell me every detail about your relationship, so best give me an overview."_

"He teaches at Cornell, very British, drinks too much tea, wears cardigans, we were married off the coast of New York, it was a spur of the moment decision so we only invited my close friend Azazel to be best man and Charles's sister Raven to be matron of honor…" Erik paused. "We um, connect over science. We met at Azazel's apartment when Charles was dropping Raven off for a date."

"_Well, good to see that you two at least thought this a bit out." _His mother said_. "And the mother of the other groom?"_

"Charles says his family isn't very close. Raven is telling his mother, their Dad's been dead since they were little kids. Apparently, her various divorcees are nonentities."

"_Mmmhmm."_ His mother was apparently reserving judgment. _"And how long should I expect this to last?"_

"I move out as soon as I can get a work visa." Erik said.

"_Well, that's going to be awkward to explain to your grandparents_." His mother said darkly. _"I'll have to confuse them."_

"Okay." Erik didn't even want to know what schemes his mother was hatching. He would simply exist in a state of gratitude. "I'll tell Charles you say hi."

"Oh, do, do. And remember about those pictures."

**A/N: Review? Please? Pretty please?**

**And don't worry, Sharon Xavier will come up again, as will the government.**


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